


the heart of a king

by rib14



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, canon??? never heard of it, this is mostly just me trying to add relationship lore bc they were wasted in the actual show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rib14/pseuds/rib14
Summary: This is how it has been and always will be, two lives intertwined and opposed.A study on King Harrow and Lord Viren.  (title from epic iii in hadestown the musical)





	the heart of a king

**Author's Note:**

> _And what has become of the heart of that man,_   
>  _Now that the man is King?_   
>  _What has become of the heart of that man,_   
>  _Now that he has everything?_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _The more he has, the more he holds,_  
>  _The greater the weight of the world on his shoulders_  
>  _See how he labors beneath that load_  
>  _Afraid to look up, and afraid to let go_  
>  _And he keeps his head low, and he keeps his back bending_  
>  _He grows so afraid that he'll lose what he owns_  
>  _But what he doesn't know is that what he's defending_  
>  _Is already gone_
> 
>  
> 
> – epic iii, hadestown

The Kingdom of Katolis is a strange combination of outsiders turned rulers and rulers turned outsiders. Just like the continent it rests on that once was whole, the castle of the crown of Katolis is bisected by a mountain range of ideology. Every generation there is a king– borne from a line of humans who were once close with elves who exiled them for the actions of few– and there is a high mage– borne from a line of the few. Every generation, there is quarrel, there is distrust. This is how it has been and always will be, two lives intertwined and opposed. This is how it was taught to the young mage apprentice Viren and the young prince Harrow. This was how they saw themselves, how they saw one another.

“Why do you hate dark magic, anyways?” Viren asked, one day when they were alone in the castle’s library. They were supposed to be studying, one of their fathers sent them in there to look for a book on Katolian history or magic or something else, but they had quickly gotten distracted in conversation. They were sixteen, Viren’s dark hair just slightly too long over his ears and Harrow’s mess of brown curls tied up in an earnest but lacking attempt at regality.

Harrow scoffed at the question. “Because it’s an abomination! Dark magic is what destroyed Xadia!”

“Then what exactly, your Highness, is my purpose here? I’m to be your second in command, no? Your high mage?” Viren smirked, hoping not to betray the drop he felt in his stomach when Harrow called his _birthright_ an abomination.

Harrow was taken aback. No one had ever questioned his authority, the authority of the position he would one day fill as king of Katolis, in this way before. He stared, a little bit dumbly, at Viren for a moment, before collecting himself enough to reply, “Well, I guess you have a point. Truce?”

Viren smiled. “Truce.”

 

As the years went on, the young mage and the young prince grew closer, both coming to cherish their time together, discussing politics, magic, even idle gossip. To Harrow, Viren was his first friend, someone who saw him as a peer and a person, not a king to be worshipped and appeased, even if that sometimes clashed with his attempts to learn how to effectively wield the new power he was gaining as an heir to the throne coming of age. And to Viren, Harrow was a grounding influence, a reminder that his magic had a purpose other than the pursuit of knowledge and power for its own sake– it was to protect people– people like the subjects of Katolis, people like Harrow.

 

“You know, without dark magic, you and your line wouldn’t be kings,” Viren said to Harrow one day, alone once more in the library, sitting next to each other at a bench. Viren was writing in the margins of an old spellbook, Harrow reading an old elven treatise. They were twenty, and Viren’s hair was cut short now, sleek and close to his face, while Harrow grew his out, dreadlocks dangling just past his ears.

Harrow sighed. “Are we still arguing about this, Viren?”

Viren shrugged. “I just wasn’t sure you’d considered it before.” He smiled, a little sadly, darting his eyes from Harrow’s to look instead at– well, his lips. “You know I never miss a chance to remind you that you need me.”

Harrow placed his hand on Viren’s. “You’re my friend, and my high mage. Of course I need you.”

A pause, punctuated only by the sound of two heartbeats, elevated.

It was Harrow who moved first, leaning in just slightly so that Viren could meet him the rest of the way, smashing their lips together in a way that made it obvious neither of them had much practice with it, neither paying any mind to the thud of a book hitting the floor. Harrow put his hands on Viren’s cheeks and Viren wrapped his arms around Harrow’s waist, and with that, their truce was broken, and a new partnership had begun to be forged.

 

And for a while, it was just that. A partnership, the future king and his mage, working like two dragon’s wings in synchronous flight above the subjects of Katolis. They were so young, and it felt so natural for Harrow to interrupt Viren’s studies with a kiss on the cheek, or for Viren to press Harrow against the door of the throne room when they had a precious moment alone. Harrow asked Viren to be in his coronation portrait, making controversy and history in the kingdom, but to them it only felt natural.

In their new positions as king and high mage, things quickly shifted in their relationship and their lives. In many ways, the shift was as if a clock’s last gear was placed in its position and could finally begin telling time after so long being intricately crafted– the two men had trained their lives to fill these positions, after all. Harrow finally had the power and weight of a crown resting on him alone, and Viren had all the magical knowledge in the kingdom at his disposal. But when a clock begins to tick, the two hands move apart for the first time, traveling at different paces to fulfill their respective duties and only meeting when necessary.

And so the routine came to be that during the day, Harrow and Viren were gods, the king and his high mage, rulers of the land and servants of the people. But in the evening, after the stars appeared in the darkening sky to mark the beginning of a new Katolian day, if only for an hour or a moment in Harrow’s bedroom, they could just _be_. They both cherished that time, the chance to take off their metaphoric and sometimes literal armor, to talk about their days or make each other forget about them. It was then and only then that they could show any vulnerability at all, so they showed each other as much as their pride would allow, they laid themselves bare to be judged, to be admired, to be loved, as much as their pride would allow. And in the morning, when Viren rose with the sun to see the early streaks of dawn land on Harrow’s still sleeping frame and kissing him on the jaw, never sure if he saw Harrow smile in response or if it was just his imagination, before hastily getting dressed and heading to his study, well, that was something truly beautiful.

It was strange, Viren often found himself thinking, the way that Harrow viewed his magic. He feared it like an obligation, like a religion. It was easy, he knew, for people to fear the things they did not understand, and there was no one more positioned to refuse to understand than a king insecure in his power. Harrow was a stubborn man, and had Viren not been just as stubborn, he would have given up trying to explain his duties to the kingdom to Harrow long ago. It still did give Viren a private joy, even if it was one mixed with frustration, to see Harrow pleased with his work when he did not know it was dark magic. A new potion to kill insects that ate Katolian farmers’ crops, there was nothing dark about that, nothing unnatural. Viren always wondered what Harrow would say if he knew that the souls of a few insects were necessary in the formula, but perhaps it was better for both of them if he didn’t start an argument every time.

 

And then, the dragon. He was back. The people were afraid, and there was so little Harrow could do to comfort them. The roars of Thunder echoed across the kingdom, a now constant reminder of the power of the continent to their east– they had a monster, yes, but more importantly, they had a force of nature. That was how Xadia wanted to be seen– not a country at all, but an unshakeable fact about the world. Trees grow towards the light, men die, and Thunder shakes the mountains every night. So is life in Katolis.

But Viren, being Viren, had a remedy. He turned to his books, to his magic, and found a way to slay the beast. He found a way, he thought, to end the storm.

“My king, I believe I have a solution.” Viren said to Harrow in his throne room, the noonday sun shining through the windows.

Harrow squinted, looking down at his high mage from his ornate throne. “Do you?”

Viren nodded and reached into his bag, pulling out a shining silver sword, lit with a strange purple light. “This is–”

“Oh, I know what that is! It’s dark magic!” Harrow’s eyes widened, leaning back against his chair at the sight of the weapon. The guards on all sides of the room took a ready stance, both watching Viren and waiting for a signal for from Harrow, but none came. Instead, an order. “Drop the sword.”

Viren quirked his head on impulse. “Harrow, what?”

The king stood up from his throne, towering over the room and commanding it with his presence. “Drop. The. Sword.”

It clattered to the ground, followed by a small puff of purple smoke. Harrow slowly descended the stairs to meet Viren in the middle of the room.

“You want to slay the beast with this sword, no?”

Viren nodded, holding his head high.

“And you think this will help with our problems with Xadia, is that true?”

Another nod. “It is the only way to save our kingdom.”

Harrow sighed, his breath on Viren’s face the ghost of a memory turned sour. “Then you’re a fool, Viren. And you’re going to get us killed. You’ll start another war.”

Viren took a sharp breath in and turned away from his king, his lover. He picked up the sword and made for the door. Every guard in that room started for him but Harrow’s voice cascaded through the corridor like the roar of Thunder himself. “No. Let him go.” And they did.

 

Harrow wished that every day that Viren stop believing he was a god. To be a king, he knew, meant often having control over the life and death of his kingdom, but Viren was trying to control nature itself. Even kings knew that Thunder could not be slain, that man could not force his will on the world itself like a king did on his subjects. But Viren’s arrogance knew no bounds, he believed himself to be special, even though he was not from a royal line. And Harrow would be lying if he said he didn’t make him believe it sometimes too. And that’s what made him so dangerous.

 

The day Viren returned with the dragon slain was the largest celebration Katolis had seen in years. There were protesters along with celebrators, of course, there were others in the kingdom who knew the dangers of acts of war and now feared it would be reciprocated. But Harrow had to feign joy on that day, for how would it look to his subjects if he admitted to not condoning this act? A great beast, a terror to the kingdom, had been slain, the only choice a king had was to say it was he who slew it. And in those moments, Harrow felt, not for the first time, that royal power is an unusual kind of suffocation. Viren stayed clear of him during the party– he was a smart man, after all. But there was a moment when he passed Harrow and smiled at him, only for him to scowl back. There was an irony to it that Harrow only realized much later– that even when he was angry at him, Viren was still the only one to whom he could show his true feelings.

 

That day, the day Thunder was slain, two separations grew wider. Katolis and Xadia were now at war, or at least it was presumed they were. The stillness and silence of the mountains at night were both a comfort and a forewarning; now no one could know from where Xadia would strike, or if they even would. The terror of the ever-present was replaced with the terror of the unknown. And that second separation, that schism between Harrow and Viren, grew infinitely wider because Viren saw this change as a triumph, and Harrow a defeat waiting to happen.

 

Years later, there are assassins ready to take Harrow’s life. Viren, being Viren, has a solution. And Harrow, being Harrow, refuses. And in that argument, for just a split second, Viren feels sixteen and curious again. He feels twenty and in love. He feels angry at Harrow for caring more about his power than himself, for not understanding the pain it would cause _him_ to see him gone. They both were always a little too selfish for their own good.

Later that night, Viren enters Harrow’s bedroom, alone. It’s been a while since they’ve had something like this. The sky is darkening and the stars are beginning to show themselves, the threat of the assassins looming ever closer. And if this is to be Harrow’s final day, what’s the harm in one last night?

**Author's Note:**

> hey thx 4 reading!!! u can find me on twitter @jaceaddax, i don't talk abt tdp much on there except to maybe occasionally criticize its themes but pls hmu if u wanna learn abt this great podcast called friends at the table!!! it's good!!!


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